


wear a hat (so you can't see my hair)

by palateens



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Fraternities & Sororities, Let's see what happens, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Racism, Recreational Drug Use, Tags Are Hard, Weight Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-18 02:18:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12378825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palateens/pseuds/palateens
Summary: Larissa needs to play nice. At least for a weekend, long enough to see if she’s cut out for sorority shit.





	wear a hat (so you can't see my hair)

**Author's Note:**

> a couple weeks ago, I was getting ready for a sorority event and I had this very vivid image of Lardo shaving her legs before recruitment and feeling a lot of the same anxiety and ambivalence I felt as a freshmen going through the process (especially as a queer POC). 
> 
> So this is a Sorority/Fraternity AU from Lardo's POV. It's a story about looking at Greek culture critically while still getting something worthwhile out of it. There'll be a lot of the main cast of CP, and a lot of Ace Off OCs thrown in (including some people you haven't met yet). 
> 
> It won't always be happy, but it'll always be honest. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Larissa Duan spends the week before her freshman year of college mostly staying out of everyone’s way. Her parents dropped her off on move in day with more snacks than she could reasonably eat in a year, let alone a semester. They give her more hugs and quiet encouragement than she thought was possible. She’s secretly thankful that student housing at Samwell is suite style and she doesn’t have to deal with a roommate. 

Her suitemates are decent people. They’ve all got at least half a foot on her and probably weigh just as much as she does. Tori’s from Pennsylvania and is here on a lacrosse scholarship.  Candace is from Florida and has a fake tan that looks like she took a week’s vacation to an orange crush factory and blonde extensions that probably cost more than Larissa made in a month as a waitress in high school. Megan is from Oregon. She’s quiet but is too fucking beautiful for Larissa to be able to get a sentence out in front of her. 

They’re all nice enough. Megan likes a lot of the same music Larissa does, and she’s undeclared leaning toward Creative Writing. She’s soft spoken but kind. So of course Candace has to talk over all of their conversations to assert how interesting she is. 

Candace loves talking about herself, her family, her porsche at home, and how much better Miami is than Boston. But most of all, Candace loves talking about sororities. She made it very clear by the end of the first night that she’d chosen Samwell University for one reason only. 

“You know Delta Mu Epsilon was founded at Samwell,” she says matter of factly after she forced everyone to sit down and watch  _ America’s Next Top Model _ l on her brand new television. 

“Delta what?” 

Candace gasps. Larissa has to stop herself from rolling her eyes. 

“Delta Mu Epsilon? You know, ‘damn that girl’s a dame’?”

“Uh, no. My parents are from Vietnam. I’m first generation American, dude,” she says. 

Candace is decent enough to blush. “They’re one of the oldest and most prestigious sororities. I’m a triple legacy, and my grandmother served on the national council for a decade. So recruitment is more of a formality than anything.”

“What’s recruitment?” Megan asks. 

“That’s the proper term for the membership selection process,” Candace says. “Rush is just a vulgar layman's term.” 

“Interesting,” Megan mutters somewhat dispassionately. 

“So when’s recruitment?” Larissa asks. 

“Next week,” Candace says enthusiastically. “I have my recruitment counselor on call and a mani-pedi scheduled for the day before.” 

“Why?”

“Oh dear sweet Larissa—” Candace says with a tsk. 

This isn’t the first time Larissa’s wanted to knock someone down a peg or two, but she was hopping to last a few days at least. 

“Recruitment is just like an interview. You have to put your best foot forward to get anywhere.” 

“That’s cool, and all,” Larissa says. “I just don’t see what all the fuss is about. You buy your friends so you can spend your weekends in dingy frat houses. Sounds real fun.”

“First of all, dues are to keep the chapter running,” Candace explains. “You’re paying to contribute to an organization older than anyone currently alive. Second, there’s more to Greek life than parties. It’s a life long commitment to something bigger than yourself.” 

“Sounds like a cult to me.” 

At this point, Candace is doing her best to keep a smile on her face. Larissa has to hand it to her—most girls don’t have it in them to keep a conversation with her. 

“Maybe it seems odd because you’ve never given it serious thought. Sororities are wonderful, and there is a house for everyone who wants one. Even you.” 

“Gee, thanks,” Larissa deadpans. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Candace either doesn’t know what sarcasm sounds like, or decides it’s easier to take her at face value. “Good, registration is open until Thursday night in case you change your mind.”   

Larissa snorts under her breath. She could barely keep a few friends who were girls in high school. Which is better than she can say about her track record in elementary and middle school. She’s too small and quick witted. Her lunches drove people away when her scowl couldn’t. And even then, people loved to give her shit for being slow or fat, or “inarticulate” because she didn’t care to give them the time of day. 

Suffice it to say, Larissa is less than confident in her ability to make a good impression to a group of solely women who want women just like them to join their cookie-cutter ranks. She’s not girly. She couldn’t be feminine if she tried. If she even wanted to be that way. 

It takes a few days of shuffling between classes, getting lost on the way to the dining hall, and fumbling through ice breakers for Larissa to realize that college isn’t that different from high school—but it’s also kind of worse. Because everyone’s so awkward and enthusiastic about being new, and she’s not. 

She’s mainly here to get a degree. Samwell has a decent art program, but she applied to this place because of its prestige. Her parents firmly believe that she’ll be able to anything in life if she graduates with a degree from this gilded Ivy League. She feels more out of her element with every class she walks into. 

By the end of Wednesday night, Megan’s out hanging out with new friends, Tori is at conditioning (again), and that leaves Larissa and Candace watching TV by themselves. 

“I thought you’d have a shit ton of friends by now,” Larissa says. 

“Please, I put my foot in my mouth more than food,” Candace says. 

“You? No,” she says sarcastically. 

“Hardy har har,” Candace says, rolling her eyes. “I know I’m not everyone’s favorite. I’m a little loud and talkative.”

Larissa shrugs. She isn’t good at comforting people. But Candace is nice, or at least a lot nicer than Larissa’s been to her. 

“I’m sure those sorority bitches will adore you,” Larissa says. 

Candace looks at her with something like awe. “You really think so?”

“Oh yea,” she assures her. “You’re perfect for rush. All smiley and shit.” 

Candace laughs so hard she starts to snort. Larissa has to hide her face in her hoodie to keep her creeping blush from showing. 

Larissa realizes that Candace is her first college friend. They have almost nothing in common except a begrudging love of trash reality tv. It isn’t easy trying to put herself out there, and Larissa thinks all of the clubs she saw on Quad Day were less than appealing. Classes are obnoxious, and she’s never been an extrovert. There’s no way she’ll magically make friends through bullshit small talk or bumping into someone in line for breakfast. She’s not one of those people, and probably will never be. 

She saw a guy this morning already asleep in the library like it’s finals week, and some people who were chilling on the main quad by themselves, looking content enough. But what if they aren’t? What if they don’t have anyone to go home to? What if she can’t make any friends period? What if she goes through the motions for the next four years and has absolutely nothing but a piece of paper to show for it? 

She’s mainly here to get a degree. Samwell wasn’t really her choice, but she’s stuck here. It would really suck if she loses her only friend the second Candace gets a bid. 

So, she tags along with Candace to recruitment orientation night. Maybe it’s because Candace is uncannily good at persuasion, or maybe that she got under Larissa’s skin enough to decide to give the whole “recruitment” process a shot. (Maybe Larissa is just not a fan of being bored and lonely in her dorm room like a tortured artist.) 

They listen to a woman who’s the CFO of a Fortune 500 company talk about how she joined a sorority. She rants about how everyone joins for a different reason, and not everyone makes it where they thought they’d be. 

“You’re going to hear people say ‘true the process’ so much you think you’ll puke,” the speaker says. “You’ll talk to people until your throat’s sore, your feet hurt, and you think a frat boy would smell nicer than you.” 

Larissa thinks it’s supposed to be a joke, and so do enough people that there’s a soft chuckle that rips through the crowd. 

“Some of you might feel like you belong the moment you open your bid card and see which house took you,” the speaker continues on. “You might feel at home after first invite when you’re sure you’ve found your future Big. But I promise those moments are just the beginning. Sure, you’ll have late night dance parties, endless study sessions, and more desserts than you thought possible. But what you’re really doing is joining a family.

“Families don’t always get along perfectly, and you won’t always like the people you’re stuck with. But here’s the important thing to remember about families—they’ve always got your back. 

“So don’t go into those houses tomorrow and thinks ‘I’m gonna act like the coolest girl around so these girl will have to give me a bid.’ Act like your wonderful damn self. And just feel them out. I swear, these girls are just as nervous as you are. Maybe even moreso. 

“I know you’re all going to find your homes for the next four years, and really, a family for life.” 

Maybe Larissa’s just giving into something that’s not her. Maybe she’s setting herself up for defeat and heartache, but something about people having her back sounds really fucking good. She’d love nothing more than to know people will always be there for her. Whether they have a choice or not doesn’t matter, she thinks mirthlessly. It’s not paying for friends, but it’s sure as fuck paying for some sort of social insurance she thinks. 

She registers on her phone before the speaker leaves the stage. Everyone is broken up into groups to meet their recruitment counselors (or Rho Chi’s as they call themselves). 

Larissa’s in a group of twenty other freshmen and sophomores. Their Rho Chi’s are two girls who are already in sororities. They explain that they’re there to offer assistance and guidance during the process, as well as making sure no one gets lost. But they can’t reveal their affiliation in order to keep the process fair. 

Which, Larissa thinks is kind of bullshit. But when she notices one of her Rho Chi’s has a nose ring and some pink streaks underneath her ponytail, she realizes why they keep things anonymous. She would want to be in any house that would let her be that kind of person. But who knows if a house that would want that girl would work for her. 

She walks back to her dorm with a few other girls who live in their building. Candace talks a few of them up about how recruitment in the South is so much harder. 

“It would be impossible to receive a bid without a good amount of sparkling recommendation letters from alumnae,” she explains. 

“Why?” Larissa dares to ask.

“Because they trust the judgement of their members and use that as a compass to weed out the masses.” 

“That sounds as real as your accent,” Larissa mutters. 

“What was that?” Candace says tightly. 

“Nothing,” she says with a sweet smile

Candace lets it go, surprising even Larissa. It’s occurs to Larissa that she’s spent her entire life pretending to be someone she’s not. She’s been Vietnamese enough for her parents, “white” enough for her teachers, and cool enough for her friends. She spent high school trying to squeeze herself into clothing that was flattering enough or feminine enough to make people forget that she’s “curvy” at best. 

And really, she doesn’t hate herself. She doesn’t think she could hate herself if she tried. But it would be nice for one fucking moment to not walk into a sea of white people, and be automatically singled out as other or wrong or not “pretty” enough. 

She rushes past Candace the moment their suite door is unlocked, groaning as she falls onto the couch in the common room. Candace’s parents bought most of it for her (Larissa’s trying really hard not to hate her since her parents have made their lives easier, that has to count for something). 

“What’s wrong?” Candace asks. 

She lifts her head off the couch. “How the fuck am I supposed to survive recruitment? I don’t wear dresses or cute shit. I have no idea what to do with my hair. What do girls even talk about?” 

“Everything boys do,” Candace says cheerily. “Just stay away from the three B’s and you’ll be fine.” 

“The three B’s?”

“Weren’t you listening at orientation? Boys, booze, and bars. As long as you don’t start asking what fraternities a house socializes with or how often they have sex, you’ll be fine.” 

“Cool,” Larissa says, sighing in relief. 

She still feels like a fish out of water. Larissa looks at Candace, who’s turning on the TV to a  _ Project Runway _ marathon, and realizes she’s out of her depth but not alone. Maybe this is what sororities are like: learning personal limits and asking for help when it’s staring you right in the face. 

“Hey Candace?” 

She hums. “Yes dear?”

“Can you teach me how to fix my hair?”

Candace’s eyes practically bulge out of her sockets, she squeals with delight. Larissa winces, trying her hardest to grin. 

“I would be honored to help you,” she tells Larissa. “But, first thing’s first, go take a shower and make yourself as hairless as a newborn baby’s bottom.” 

Larissa has to suppress the instinct to make a joke about how unreasonably simple that sounds. But she needs to play nice. At least for a weekend,  long enough to see if she’s cut out for sorority shit. 

Which is how she finds herself shaving her legs in a cramped shower. The bathroom in their suite isn’t awful. The fluorescent lights are as dingy as the curtain rod, but it’s clean. And it’s certainly as big as the one she has at home. She takes a deep breath, realizing it’s very possible that she won’t be able to afford any of it anyway. 

They might laugh her out of their houses. Then again, they might do that for any number of reasons. 

Larissa hasn’t shaved her legs since Junior year of high school. She usually wears leggings and oversized sweaters everywhere. Her head’s usually stuck in a sketchbook or whatever she picked up from the library that week. It took her a summer of working two jobs to afford her smartphone. She has a decent amount of financial aid. But according to the fucking government, her parents make too much money for her to do work study.

It fucking sucks. She’ll definitely have to get a job if she gets a bid. That’s a big fucking if, she reminds herself. 

She could get cut from the first round because her sentences are too blunt and choppy. Or maybe they’ll think she smacks her lips together too loudly when she grunts. Maybe they won’t like that her ears aren’t pierced, or that she can’t even apply her own makeup. 

Larissa is hairy, grumpy, and slow to warm. She  loves the feeling of picking paint off her fingers, and she sings under her breath when she gets too stressed out. She’s nothing like the perfect slender white girls she saw flock around her in that lecture hall a few hours earlier. 

That makes her more nervous than she’d like to admit. 

When she gets out of the shower, Candace is tugging her toward the vanity mirror she has set up on the wall behind her desk. She plops Larissa down at the desk ceremoniously. She’s like a hummingbird the way she jumps from tool to tool, rapidly describing to Larissa what every object is for and it’s best use. She rambles about undertones, contouring, and a bunching of other terms that Larissa doesn’t understand. But then  Candace is explaining about making makeup last and getting the best bang for her buck. It makes Larissa sigh in relief. Saving money is something she understands, fortunately. 

“You sound like those moms who coupon for fun,” she teases. 

Candace blushes. “Yea, I used to do a lot of that.”

Larissa’s lips part slightly. “Really?”

“Well yea, just because I have a roof over my head now and parents with some decent money doesn’t mean I always did,” Candace explains. 

Oh, Larissa thinks. It occurs to her that Candace Miller talks about the things her parents give her the way Larissa talks about her expensive paints—like a treasure that was hard fought. Like something she had to suffer and claw her way to feel like she deserves, so she reminds herself and everyone she earned it at every possible opportunity.   

“Dude, I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”

“It’s alright,” Candace interrupts her. “I know what people think when they see me.”

Candace takes a tissue from her gilded dispenser, dabbing her eyes lightly. “I put on my best smile so they never have to wonder what I’m about.” 

“That...sucks, dude,” Larissa commiserates. 

“It is what it is,” she says with a slight frown and a shrug of her shoulders. “Now lets look through your closet and see what we’re working with.” 

“You’re wasting your time,” Larissa insists. “I have anime shirts, leggings, old man sweaters, and dresses from my cello recitals.”

“Then you’ll definitely have a dress for Preference,” Candace says. 

Candace spends an hour scouring through both of their closets. Somehow, she’s able to pull together three different outfits that look like they could be cute. She makes Larissa try on the outfit for first invite—a pair of navy shorts, her lilac chiffon tank top, and a gaudy necklace borrowed from Candace. 

“And these pair of flats will look perfect,” she says, pulling out a pair of shoes Larissa hasn’t used since she was fifteen. 

“You’re a fucking witch, I swear,” Larissa says. 

Candace quirks her lip. “I can’t tell if that’s supposed to be a compliment or not.”

“Considering you made something out of the garbage fire that is my closet, yea it’s a compliment.”

“Well I can’t take all the credit,” she says earnestly. “You have good taste. Whether you use it or not.”

“Gee, thanks,” she chortles. 

“I mean it, Lara.” 

“Lara? Huh, alright.” 

“What? No one ever called you that before?”

“Nope, no one calls me anything. Period, ever.” 

She expects Candace to give her that same sympathetic smile adults give her when she shares any tidbit of her life. It’s like some sadistic test Larissa puts herself through, reminding her and everyone else that she isn’t worth feigned concerned or fake care. 

However, she feels a squeeze on her shoulder. Candace hugs her from behind. 

Instead of feigning an apology, or trying to backtrack, Candace says, “If you don’t mind, I’d like to call you Lara. Because you deserve friends who give you funny nicknames.”

Larissa doesn’t know why, but the suggestion makes her grin broadly. 

“As long as I can call you Candy,” she teases. 

Candace hums. “Alright, fair’s fair, Lara.” 

Larissa looks at herself in Candy’s full length mirror. She still feels like she isn’t thin, clean, or pretty enough to make it through recruitment. But if sororities could already give her a fucking great friend without even trying, maybe there was something to them. 

Maybe. 

**Author's Note:**

> this is a WIP because I already have the plot figured out, but don't necessarily have the motivation rn to churn it all out at once/I need validation so comments are greatly appreciated


End file.
